


Saiyans On The Rocks

by Josenka



Series: Dragon Ball Dysfunctional Domesticity [7]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, Best Friends, Date Night, First Kiss, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Parental Advice, Saiyan Culture, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teen Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josenka/pseuds/Josenka
Summary: Poor Goten, his bestie Trunks is being like literally a Super Saiyan ass, er, butthole most of the time. Is it because a girl dumped him? Or too much of Coach Vegeta's training advice? Or because Goten's still calling him bestie? Find out in this unexciting installment of fanfic! 
  Right now [Goten] sat next to Trunks, as he did every Saturday...His bestie had an arm on the back of his chair...He must be second base training. Ex-Taitan homerun boss Uncle Yamcha had taught them how to, y’know, score other homers, nudge nudge nudge.





	1. On The Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> The Dragon Ball Universe is huge. Enormous. Gargantuan. It has its own Wiki, too! Even with that Wiki's help, nothing here's ever going to be certified 100% Canon™ because interpretation, speculation and invention. And omission of Dragon Ball GT and Super (mostly) et al. Good golly-wolly gee, it's all silly fun, taking place when Goten's sixteen and Trunks' seventeen, in a world where Vegeta's become Prince of All Training Advice and modern vocab's used inappropriately.

**ONE**

He dunked his assailant into the sea. Nimble limbs squirmed like fresh fishbait. His attacker glared through the watery window, murder glistening in fierce, icy eyes. Backwards the dunker leapt towards the shallows. He was too slow as hands apprehended his ankles like lassos. Onto wet sand he thudded, enemy arms wrapped around his legs. He wiggled and squiggled against embracing weight, jostling until it was he who had the honor of pinning.

The waves lapped against them as their eyes latched. Sun crept across his assailant’s sharp-edged face. Fierce iciness crumbled, blackness encompassing blue. He clenched his enemy's wrists tighter without limbs resisting. This was, well, like mondo bizarro. His attacker was unnecessarily ruthless whenever they sparred. Except now. Now he laid here, in a loopy lull, breathe loud and lusty but not from physical exertion.

“So Trunks,” Goten grinned, “are you yielding?”

“Hmph!” Vegeta snorted from nearby, where he built Saiyan sand fortresses with Bulla. “This wrestling’s a terribad exhibition not even fit for that loud buffoon's sideshows.” Good golly-wolly gee, didn’t Vegeta realize how terribadly awks it was when he talked like that?

“Ah, don’t be sore,” Dad laughed, disturbing sand Pan had buried him beneath. “Your son’s faster while mine’s stronger.”

“He is not.”

“Is too.”

_“HE IS NOT!”_

“Shut up, you Saiyan shitheads!” Auntie Bulma yelled from her beach chair. "One more bleep about it and we won't go to Jen and Berry's Creamery."

"Hmph!" Vegeta harrumphed. "Kakarot started it by having a second child."

“Stop competing vicariously through your son!”

“Just imagine,” Mom chortled under her umbrella, “if our husbands were pageant parents.”

 _Us in tiaras!?_ Goten laughed louder than their moms. _YOWWW!!!_ Trunks had kneed him hard. _Really, really hard._ He rolled aside, abs throbbing like a starving Saiyan stomach. From his back he watched his bestie in teal board shorts zip and zoom far, far away at lightning speed. He must be having another mood crash; it happened oftener and oftener as he got seriouser and seriouser. _Like his dad._ If it kept up, the fun would be extinguished from summer. And the sunny season had just started, too, with Satan Saved the World Day (26th of May).

* * *

**TWO**

Yummy nummy yumminess surrounded Goten at the Annual Z Fighter's Juneteenth Hot Dog Day Barbecue on Marron’s Isle. All the meats slathered in Ahsum!, Srirachacha and Mooey Kalientey sauces were mooey delicious-o. But the minty mushroom sauce on mystery meatloaf was the bestest (although Trunks insisted that wasn’t like a real word). Uncle Krillin and Nice Auntie Launch were both wonderful roast masters. Much better than Dad. Anything he (or Gohan) cooked became charred like earth ruined by Aura Blasts.

Trunks had planted himself under a purple-leafed palm tree, aloof of their dads still loudly disagreeing over whose teen son was strongest. He sat there on the ground, eyes admiring grass greener than a Namekian grinch. Dangnabbit, did Trunks look so gosh darn lonely. Maybe he just needed a big ole bestie bear hug though he claimed to be too old for them. _I'd happily hug him._ But Trunks was toxic, in a superbad temper with Vegeta harping them about Gotenks training all the flip-flopping, pip-popping time since last week's mergers had manifested only Oldtenks. Someone (or maybe something?) needed to shut His Mightiness the heck up about it. But it wouldn’t be Dad, not when he endorsed even more rigorous training when fusions had been epic failing.

Risking surliness, Goten plopped beside his pal. "Hey!" He threw an arm around hunched shoulders. “Whassup?”

“Hey,” Trunks mumbled like his cheeks were chock full of candy. “Nuttin' new.”

“Oh.” Goten glanced around. And around! AND AROUND! “Hmm.” He literally needed a conversational something that was neither food nor fighting, Trunks being bored to the bone of both. “Hmm.” He noted swanky sneaks on his bestie’s feet. “But you’ve got new Dododada shoes.”

“Hnn, yeah.”

 _Maybe his prob's being stuck in training too much._ “Whatcha doing tonight?”

“Nuttin'.”

“We could see the new Van Weasel movie.”

“Sure, whatevs.”

“Then it’s a date!” Goten laughed. But he laughed too loudly. Vegeta glowered at him from like fifty feet away with those black laser beams like he always did. _Why does he still scare the beegees outta me?_ “Y’know, I didn’t mean it. Like that, I mean. Really. I meant--”

“I know what you meant.” Trunks huffed. “But let’s see Don Juanjo Mojo’s instead.”

“It’ll have too much kissy-kissy stuff in it for you.”

“Uh, dumbass, wake up!” Trunk’s face swiveled toward his friend’s, a ghost of a smile mauling it. “That’s the same movie Van Weasel’s in.” His fingers ruffled already windblown black hair. “And you'll need adult supervision to watch it.” Dude, it sounded like Goten’s bestie was back from the brink!

* * *

**THREE**

It was Saturday night in Satanburb and there were too many pre-movie trivia questions. But this half-lit time was useful for eating messy movie munchies. Goten couldn’t eat nachos in cinematic darkness without dribbling salsa and cheese on his clothes. Right now he sat next to Trunks, as he did every Saturday, sharing a super fiesta platter. His bestie had an arm on the back of his chair. _He does that a lot lately._ He must be second base training. Ex-Taitan homerun boss Uncle Yamcha had taught them how to, y’know, score _other_ homers, nudge nudge nudge. 

Well, it wouldn’t be long until Trunks had a girlfriend. _Or a boyfriend!_ Tonight two tattooed girls with ginormous noserings kept twisting around to check him out, grinning, whispering and giggling. He was hot. At least hotter than any human teen Goten had seen at his high school. _Or anywhere else._ Trunks had lots of style, too, with all his Capsule Corp swag since Satan stuff was like so lame-o now. And his natural hair color, _l’ultron lavendrine_ , was a popular hair color, even with fully furred beings.

Trunk’s senior year began on Tuesday. _And_ _there’ll be lots more peeps drooling over him for dates._ Goten turned to his chewing bestie-- _a senior-to-be!_ \--with chip swollen cheeks. “I hope our Saturday nights aren’t ruined when you get a girlfriend.” Trunks choked on his chips. Goten smacked the cougher’s back until his breath gushed out in refreshing gasps. “You alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No prob.”

“And don’t be a dumbass.” Cool recovered, as if he’d scarfed down a Senzu bean, Trunks rolled eyes and folded arms. “Like a girlfriend’s going to ruin us.”

“I just don’t want to be without my bestie.”

“Shit, stop calling me that,” Trunks seethed. “That word’s ridunkulous beyond the tween years.” Goten didn’t retort as he focused on finishing up the nachos. His bestie, um, friend wasn’t being a carper of all crap like Vegeta, Prince of All Training Advice; he was helping Goten be less dorky than Gohan had been back in high school. After all, he had a helicopter parent from hell who passively-aggressively wanted him to literally be Goku Junior (with a few tweaks)--well, that’s what he’d overheard Auntie Bulma telling Uncle Yamcha a few years ago. 

Lights dimmed to embers and the screen brightened with big Fall previews. Goten switched to popcorn, chewing it softly so peeps didn't complain from two rows away. Trunks flung his arm around Goten again and Goten scooted as near as the armrest allowed. He thought of snuggling against Trunks to, y'know, like help him practice but decided it'd probably annoy attitudey Trunks. It didn't annoy Goten whenever Trunks' fingers danced up his neck and into his hair like a cuddly spider.

* * *

**FOUR**

Goten stood and cheered with tens of thousands as Monster Truck Mashaganza revved up in Satan Stadium. Two days ago he’d won two tickets with non-nosebleed seats from Heart-Z-Music when he was the eleventh caller. And, of course, he’d asked Trunks to come with him. But it was totally turning into a truly terribad idea as his bestie sat there, arms crossed, glowering at the loud, loud crowd; it’d’ve been far, far better to bring Pan or Marron who shared enthusiasm for motorcycles and monster trucks. 

“Hey, Trunks,” Goten shouted over metallic smashing and smooshing, “do you want to leave after the first act?”

“No, I’m fine.” Trunks elbowed the wasted screamer beside him so he'd shut up. “But I should’ve upgraded us to a private box.”

“Are you sure you want to stay?”

“I said I’m fine!”

Goten sat and slurped his supersoda into superemptiness. _I guess it’s Monster Trunks time, too._ His eyes gandered aboutand spotted school friends two rows ahead. “Hey!” he waved. “Ishi and Nisan!” They turned around, their faces carved with grins.

“Yo, Goten!” Ishi hollered back, eying up eye rolling Trunks. “Who’s your cute friend?”

“That’s Trunks.”

Nisan replied, “Oh, _that_ Trunks.” And that Trunks reddened. "I never imagined he'd be co cute."

“Don't you mean,” Ishi laughed, “he's movie star hot."

Crushtime came again so schoolmates could not yell talk about Trunks' cuteness. “Goten,”Trunks tugged his bestie closer to hear, “can we go now?”

“Um, sure,” Goten agreed. “But where to?”

“I dunno.” Trunks gnashed his teeth. “Let’s just go.” And so they went, but not to train. There were plenty of video games they hadn’t played yet so they hung out at the Satan Streetfighter Arcade.

* * *

**FIVE**

Pan was away for the day to play with Grandpa Goku in the wilderness. _They're the only two Vegeta never tells to train more._ This afforded Pan's parents an opportunity for some coveted quiet. Maybe. If Uncle Yamcha didn't stop by to show off the latest Capsule prototype car gifted him by Auntie Bulma. If Coach Vegeta didn't burst in to demand Gohan prove he maintained his Saiyan prowess. If Mr. Satan didn't drop in to promote the latest product for As Seen On SatanTV, now for the low, low price of 19.95 zeni if you call this minute.

And Goten was on the verge of invading the quiet in Gohan's gargantuan study where it stunk of musty and dusty things. His big brother was writing an extraordinarily in-depth historical analysis of the semi-legendary Hwong Kwong Fueh, Greatest Martial Artist from the Sunrise Shore; the Professor claimed Fueh was analogous to the contemporary mythologizing and memorializing of Mr. Satan. Videl was in there, too, watching the Eastern Softball Championships, yelling at the Lemonville Zesters to pulp and pulverize the Satan City Muscles. And Goten was slumping in the wide doorway, eyes on the stained hardwood, waiting for an opportune moment. _But those don't exist for reals._  He just didn't want to come off as a pesky bugger like when he called Trunks bestie.

"Hey Bro!" Gohan shouted from his desk. "What's up?" Goten looked up at his brother who beamed with cheerful dorkitude. "Goten, what's wrong?"

And Videl was peeled away from the TV, too, staring at him, her orbs bursting with blueness. "Is it theoretical maths again?"  

Goten averted her razor-edged gaze. "I--I'm sorry if I'm, um, ruining your, um, quiet," he sputtered stupidly. "But Trunks, he's--he's--he's been such a big butthole lately. And it can't all be because he takes after his dad."

"Vegeta's not the absolute royal ass he used to be." Gohan removed his oversized glasses. "And there's no way Trunks is on par with being the bloody fucking prick that Vegeta 1.0 was. Geez, you wouldn't've believed what he was like when--"

"Gohan," Videl interrupted. "We've all heard theses stories a few dozen times." 

"Uh, sorry, but you wouldn't've believe--"

"I believe Trunks has a behavioral issue."

"Oh, yeah, _that_ problem!" Gohan chuckled like a lunkhead. "He's probably got feelings for someone. Romantic feelings. And he totally doesn't know how to express them yet. Sounds just like you-know-who, right?"

She rolled her icy eyes like Trunks always did. "Uh, I married a total Saiyadork." 

 _Trunks says that too._  Videl was savvy about people, having been surrounded by them her whole life. "So, um, Videl," Goten wondered, "like how can I help him?"

"Don't pry into his romantic feelings," she announced. "He'll tell you soon enough what's messing him up."

"Besides the usual teenage stuff," Gohan added. "Well, the human stuff anyway. We don't have enough data on teenage Saiyans but--"

"But we do know everyone's grown up to be Super on Earth," Videl concluded the oft-told joke of the Saiyan Professor. 

* * *

**SIX**

_22:59:52._

One hour until Cinderella time. If Goten wasn’t home before that, well, then he’d hear it again, Son: _You’re just like your dad, unpunctual, irresponsible--no, you’re a juvenile delinquent!_ So long as he didn’t interrupt Mom’s long spiel, then there wouldn’t be extra work. Like tilling genetically modified radish fields. Such punishment was swiftly overcome by a Super Saiyan. But he hated it. He hated the sight and the stench of so many raw veggies.

_23:02:08._

Eating speed increased. Ten stale and over-buttered popcorn galloons at their fave rinky-dink theater in Satanburb hadn’t stalled his superhunger. _Jackie Chun Versus King Pistachio_ had been a choking hazard of hilarity for him. _But not Trunks._ Legendary Drunken Master (all stunts performed by Uncle Yamcha) and his two proteges, (monkey-tailed Mushi and bald-headed Brine) were hysterical, cracking Pistachio’s nutty minions Cashew and Almond. _They’re even using Chunniechunhas!_ No wonder Master Roshi made a crapola load off his alterego’s unauthorized bio by his other alterego, Bruche Lieu. But those awesome profits, they’d all be devoured by a chronic porn addiction within days. Mom hadn't been pleased when Dirty Old Turtle Hermit gave Goten a few girlie mag subscriptions for his sweet sixteen.

_23:05:25._

Now he’d finish his second big o’bucket of Kung Pao shrimp. Should he dare have a third? He glanced at Trunks’ meal. His bestie hadn’t even eaten half his happy family-sized bucket of drumsticks.

_23:07:56_

There, Trunks sat, eyes on the cracked floor, feet and fingers tipping and tapping. He looked moody, broody and attitudey. And he was. Literally like all the literal time. Goten had discussed his bestie’s temperousness with Gohan and Videl two weeks ago; they’d concluded Trunks liked someone, y’know, in _that_ way, and he shouldn’t be nudged and winked into discussing it just yet. But Goten couldn't wait another two weeks to end his cluelessness.

“Hey, Trunks,” Goten interrupted the mopey moper, “can I finish off your chicken?”

“Sure, whatevs,” Trunks grumble mumbled. “I don’t care.”

“Thanks!” And Goten gobbled away, a greasy drumstick in each hand. But Trunks kept looking, there, at the ground, brows warped and gnarled like a ginormous potato, worrying like he’d never worried before. Goten needed a way of asking about dating woes without being direct; he had a horrible habit of not engaging mind before mouth according to Mom and Trunks. “Hey, so, um, is anything happening to, um, you at school?”

“No, it’s as boring as ever.”

“Hmm.” Goten had to think. _Think!_ Think big time. What’d get this uncommunicative lump talking? “Hmm.” Trunks sneered at his bestie for letting Mom cut and style his hair so he’d look like a little kid. _Or Goku Junior._ “Any ideas where I should get my hair done?”

“I dunno, it’s your hair.”

“Dude, c’mon, help a guy whose style sense never tingles!”

“Ask Yamcha.”

“He’d suggest a place that charges 4,000 zeni for a nosehair trim.” _And I didn’t even know about such a thing til yesterday!_ "My monthly allowance costs as much as a bottle of his shampoo."

“Then cut your own damn hair.”

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Goten blurted. “Um, I meant, there, at, school.”

“Hnn.” Trunks scowled at him. “Why do you care?”

“No reason!” Goten laughed, the awks kind, and Trunks would get totes suspicious of him. “Y’know, just, um, something to talk about, yeah.”

"Hnn.”

Their catwoman waiter stopped by again, asking if Sugarlump and Honeybuns would order their usual desserts. Both said no, so she dropped off an electric biller. Trunks reached for it, but Goten nabbed it first. “I’ll pay, Trunks. I ate most of the stuff anyway.”

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll pay.”

Goten clutched the biller tighter. “I’ll pay.” Fleet-fingered Trunks grabbed at it but Goten reeled it towards himself. “It’s my turn!” Trunks stretched across the crumb-speckled table to snatch it. Their hands tussled over the biller until someone squashed it with his strength. “Oops!” Goten shouted. “Waiter, this biller malfunctioned.”

She tottered over to inspect the crushed circuitry. “Again?” Her head shook. “They’re always malfunctioning round you, sweeties.” She purred amusement. “I bet you’ve got them strong electromagneto field thingees.”

“I guess.”

“And, ma’am,” Trunks ordered, “give the biller to me.”

“Ah, c’mon, man!” Goten protested as their waiter left. “You already paid for the movie.”

“Hnn.” Trunks huffed. “Use your money on a haircut.” That snip of sarcasm sounded like the Trunks who Goten liked bestest as his bestie.

_23:21:13._

Trunks paid their almost midnight snack bill. And then he paid for Goten’s three liter twirly-whirly slurpy-lurpy from a slurpy truck. Silently, shoulder to shoulder, they slunk around old, emptied industrial streets. Trunks slung an arm around Goten’s waist while the younger Saiyan slurped away. _He must be training really hard for dating now._ This was like when they were really, really little, running (sometimes flying) arm-in-arm, laughing at Trunk’s genius schemes to get out of gravity training, when nothing was funner than outwitting Vegeta.

But, back then, Goten never would've thought of putting his own arm around Trunks' waist. Well, not like this, like they were pretend dating, as he had with Marron once when they had played boyfriend-girlfriend. And Trunks had a wonderful waist, one athletic supermodels of any gender, of any species would envy. At least among Earthlings, anyway. If his hands weren't so full then Goten would've swooped his arm around Trunks, squeezing the lean, mean supermuscles against himself.  

_23:58:31._

“Dangnabbit!” Goten gawked at his watch. “I won’t be home in time! Unless we fuse correctly, right? Really, Dad needs to teach me insta transmission. But Mom, she’d totally--”

“Tell her there’s superbad turbulence up there.”

"Ah, Trunks," Goten laughed, “you’re as lovable as your cool excuses!” He squashed his bestie in a squishy-squashy superhug until his watch alarm let them know it really was Cinderella time. “See you later bestie!” But before he flew away he deposited his trash in appropriate receptacles.

* * *

**SEVEN**

There was no trouble with Mom thanks to Trunks' awesome excuse. But Sunday texts and emails of thanks to Trunks had received no replies by Thursday. He must be really, really angry at Goten for calling him bestie again. Goten decided he’d let his bestie, um, friend stew and stow until Saturday when it was Gotenks time. _Maybe._ When they fused properly he’d learn what was up, what was down. Merged thusly, their memories intermingled, a steady trickle of ideas and images, facts and formulas. _It’s helped on lotsa advanced bio chem tests._ No one knew their consciousnesses were awake within Gotenks because that gosh darn Vegeta, he’d go berserks over Kakarot’s son knowing his ultimate weakness: _ticklish tootsies._

* * *

**EIGHT**

And so, Saturday came. And went. Without any fusion dances. Trunks bailed, leaving a curt, mumbly voicemail about catching up on murderous amounts of homework. Goten didn’t have that problem at Hercule High (Home of the Fighting Satans!), but he wasn’t a Super Supergenius 3 attending Capsule Genius Academy where they studied astral zeftochemistry with nanotelescopes. Well, if Trunks wasn’t coming, there was a marathon of Kung Fu Raccoon cartoons. Pan would enjoy watching them. Especially if they sparred during commercials like Supersparkle Pixie Princess Shimmershine did.

* * *

**NINE**

_“Oh, baby boo, it’s plain to me, girl/You’re the cutest genius in the world...”_

Oh fudge and fiddle-faddle, Bulma’s ringtone! He snatched his warbling mobile. Had something happened to Trunks? _Please, Great Dragon, not more mutant veggies wanting energy._ “Auntie, what’s wrong?”

There was raspy breathing. Massive, menacing, malignant phone breathe. Like in an old horror movie. _“WHAT'S WRONG!?"_

“Vegeta!?” Goten gulped. “I--I, um, didn’t know you could, use a phone.”

“Don’t mock me, Earthling.” The Prince of All Saiyans sounded Super Saiyan pissed. “You’ve gone weeks without any successful fusions.”

“So?” Goten eyed the window, noting it was not yet dawn in Satan's time zone. “Yeah, so what?”

“If you have time to date, then you have time to train.”

“Me date!?” Goten laughed. “Trunks must’ve confused you. Girls oogle him, not me.” There was fiendish puffing on the other side like when Shenlong was impatient for wishmakers to wish. “Um, well, gotta go!”

He hung up. That was totes creepy. Kooky and spooky. And totes cray cray. Dangnabbit, he didn’t know what to do, if this was ominous or something ominouser. But he needed to know what his bestie was up to. Like why the heck Vegeta believed Goten had a girlfriend.

* * *

**TEN**

There Goten flew. To Capsule Corp. On Wednesday afternoon (for those in Satan’s time zone) to see Trunks. He had to. He had to! HE HAD TO! He hungered for the sight of him like he hungered for minty mushroom sauce on mystery meatloaf. It left him sleepless, rotating on a spit over clammy sheets, as he puzzled life’s worst question: _Are we still besties?_

And so here he was, risking Coach Vegeta's training advice, prowling into the lab. But not like a rat. And definitely not like a gerbil. Auntie Bulma’s workspace was literally like walking onto another planet ruled by _the_  Gorgeousiest Supergenius in the Universes™ (she had trademarked the phrase in case another claimed it). Everywhere were gizmos and whazzits, dojiggers and thingamabobs to be oohed and aahed. At least by peeps not into hypersonic plasmatic nano-accelerators for dissecting hadrons.

“Hey Goten!” And said Goten jolted like he was struck by lightning. He had been a few time for reals. And maybe he was again. Breath shortness? _Yes._ Insane heartbeat? _Check!_ Temporary paralysis? _YOU BETCHA!_ “What brings you here into my lair?"

“I, um, just--y’know I--”

 _“MOM!_ ” It was Trunks. It was Trunks! IT WAS TRUNKS!  _“MOM, I CAN’T FIND MY HOMEWORK CAPSULE!”_

_“USE YOUR INSIDE VOICE!”_

_“I NEED MY BIOENGINEERING REPORT!”_

_“CHECK THE GRAVITY ROOM!”_

And Trunks entered, looking eye-tasty as ever. Their eyes swapped stares. Blue eyes bulged like a sated Saiyan stomach and their nearby jaw dangled like Uncle Piccolo’s did whenever Gotenks had an awesome new attack. Trunks looked around and around like he was a lab rat lost in a labyrinth. So what was scaring the crapola out of him?

 _“NEVERMIND!”_ he yelled.  _“SEE YOU LATER, MOM!”_ He leapt away, blasting through the supposedly indestructible ceiling, without a word for his bestie.

“Damn him!” she snarled. “That boy’s getting more like his dad by the nanosecond.”

“Hmm.” Goten glanced at Trunks’ demolition job. _A hole made by an asshole._ “What’s he been up to?”

“I don’t know.” Her head swayed from side to side. “He disappears for hours and won’t answer questions about his whereabouts. I’ve had no luck with drones following him since he’ll blow them up. Maybe he’s secretly dating or sexually frustrated.” She reached into her crisp lab coat, taking out cigarettes with the llama label. “But him and his father, they’ve driven me back to smoking.” She fumbled through more pockets. “They’re not speaking to each other either so it's literally like living in a long, awkward silence.”

“Oh.”

“I forgot my lighter,” she grumbled. “Can you light me up?” Goten’s ki lit her cigarette. She commenced with the epicest rant about the men in her life, including Uncle Yamcha and Uncle Oolong, between pineapple-scented puffs. He was silent, without listening, while something weird stung his eyes. Damn, they were beginning to get very blurry like he needed glasses. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He winced. _Shit!_ And very visibly, too. “Um, it must’ve been, um, the spicy food I ate before coming here.” It was a dain bramaged lie. But he had his pride. _Saiyan pride._ And he must fight on without his warrior bestie. His _former_ bestie.

* * *

** ELEVEN **

But he tried contacting Trunks anyway. An email on Thursday and a text on Friday remained unanswered by Tuesday. _Maybe he was dating and got himself dumped._ Goten remembered how Gohan had been when he started kissing Videl: _a total hormonal monstersaurus rex who wanted to be alone._ So Goten wouldn’t pester his bestie, er, friend, er, former associate at saving the world or whatevs ever again. Y’know, he had stuff to do, too. _Without that asshat Trunks._ Like get his hair cut and styled by a pro. And get new clothes at Hollabacker and Meridian Beagle. Maybe Trunks wouldn’t recognize him when next they met. _If we ever meet again._ He had friends at school he could hang with instead, too, who didn't call him a dumbass. They just called him a nerd for acing a test on gravitational theoretics.

* * *

** TWELVE **

Big circles. Little circles. Goten scrubbed his teeth. His muscles did a more diligent cleaning than a Capsule Stellar Luxe Dental Cleaner. Two minutes later his smile had the whiteness of a digitally altered toothpaste ad.

And the doorbell _clinged clanged clunk._ Who the golly-wolly ding-a-ling-dang was visiting at this hour? Saturdays were for sloth. At least when Trunks was a butthole who cancelled Gotenks time with the tersest of texts: _Can’t come._ Goten plodded to the door in plaid pajamas (no more cartoon characters for him!). And the bell _clinged clanged clunk_ with a stink stank stunk of impatience.

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming!” he yelled. _Whoever’s there keeps their ki lidded._ “You’re gonna break the gosh darn bell!” _What if it’s Trunks?_ He dashed to the door. Clammy hands clutched the knob. He ripped the door open, displacing its hinges.

And it was Vegeta, the Prince of All Training Advice, wearing training regalia. He gave Goten his ole mean’n’malicious glower o’power. His scowl traveled up and down, down and up, his vile eyes unblinking like a reptilian glare. “Well well, aren’t you looking less and less like Kakarot.”

Goten gaped. “Um, thanks?” Mom had been less than pleased with his new hairdo and clothes that paid homage to Uncle Yamcha's suave style. "I didn't think you'd notice."

“Hmph.” Vegeta leaned in menacingly. “You’re coming with me.”

“What!?” Goten slid back from that bloodcurdling face. “Me, I’m, um, training with Uncle Krillin today.”

“You’re training with me,” Vegeta stepped into the house. “If Kakarot and Piccolo are too busy meditating, then I’ll oversee your fusion development. You can’t get clumsy like a bunch--”

“But--but--but--”

“All excuses are unacceptable!” the Prince of All Training Advice bellowed. “If you don’t come willingly--”

“He’s not coming!” Mom shouted from the kitchen. “You’re not ordering my son around!” She materialized, armed with an adamantine saucepan from Planet Eternia. “Unless the Earth’s in danger then--”

“He’s endangering Earth by not--”

“There you go again!” Her head rocketed back and forth, forth and back, as she strode towards them. “Always blaming Goten for something, especially your son’s problems.”

The Prince of All Training Advice reddened. “Woman, don’t try my patience!”

Mom raised the saucepan like an executioner’s axe. “Don’t try mine!” Her eyes fastened with her son’s. She nodded and winked, indicating it was flight time for him. And he could go without guilt because she enjoyed thwarting Coach Vegeta's grandiose training plans. “Mine’s gone missing. All that time wasted on waiting for Goku, it’s made--”

Goten zigzagged from the house and zoomed into the sunrise, zipping towards Marron’s Island in need of sane and sage advice.

* * *

**THIRTEEN**

While Master Roshi dreamed of tantric yoga vids (or something tit-titillating) on his fave threadbare chair in Kame House (he lived next door to 18's Rococonut villa), Goten explained it all to his martial arts father, Uncle Krillin. All about Trunks. His aloofness. His offishness. His what-the-fudge-is-wrong-with-him-ness. _Or is it me?_ Uncle Krillin listened and Master Roshi snored while Goten went on and on and on about the weeks without his bestie. _My bestest bestie._ Trunks had gone AWOL when Goten visited Auntie Bulma again for help on astrophysics homework again (spaghetti theory gave him an achey head). And, then, then Goten ruptured with tears. Like a baby volcano. He didn’t want to bother Trunks but--but--but--

“Saiyans can cry,” Uncle Krillin patted Goten’s hunched back while Uncle Turtle crawled into the room at sub-sub-sublight speed. “Vegeta wailed for three whole days after losing his fave rival to Cell.”

 _Mom said he bawled because Gohan had the glory._ “I don’t know what to do.”

“I know: it’s totes awks,” Uncle Krillin laughed awkswardly. “It’s got to be a girlfriend, bro. Excepting your dad, Z Fighters morph into rabid douchebags when they’re falling into love.”

“I   re-mem-ber,” Uncle Turtle sighed. “Ah,   I    re-mem-ber   when    Krill-in    dat-ed   Mar-on.”

“We don’t talk about that!”

“Oh,   Ma-ron!   Ah,   the   mem-o-ries!”

“Heh!” Master Roshi chuckled from his chair. “She looked like Bulma, but totally devoid of the brains. Or do I say totes, Krillin?” He unreclined, red-rimmed sunglasses glinting. “Heh, you boys, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Uncle Krillin scowled. But not like Vegeta scowled. His scowls were from skepticism or cynicism or whatever it was. “What’ve we got wrong?”

“You say Trunks hasn’t fused with you properly in months.” Goten nodded. “And all you got in Summer was Fattenks and Oldtenks?” Goten nodded again. “It’s totes obvious.” Master Roshi rose to his feet, sunglasses glinting again. “Goten, we all know you’ve become stronger than Trunks. And, like his father, he doesn’t take being second very well.”

“Yeah,” Uncle Krillin agreed, “that makes totes awesome sense.” Good golly-wolly gee, his stabs at newer vocab were more embarrassing than Vegeta's tries.

“Heh, of course it does!” Master Roshi laughed. “Now, since you’ve mentioned dating, let me give you 350 years of romantic wisdom from my new book--"

"Your   wis-dom    _is_    Jack-ie   Chun   fan-fic."

"Uh, this'll go on for hours," Krillin moaned. "Goten, whatever you do, don't listen to a Z Fighter's dating advice."

* * *

**FOURTEEN**

It was reasonable. It was sensible. It was rational. It was: _Trunks was totes jeal jeal of his strength._ But evident logic wouldn’t leak through Goten’s braincase; it puttered around his aching head like Puar did around Uncle Yamcha.

For a few nights-- _no, actually several_ \--sleep took a vacay. He tossed and turned like a basketball, bouncing from bed to floor and back again in his quest to get comfy. But his body wouldn’t rest, not even if he trained to exhaustion (which Uncle Piccolo would’ve approved). And his mind was absolutely berserks with theories: _Was he too dorky for Trunks? Or numbnutted? Or dumbassed? Or was Goten just a gotard?_

Goten sighed. Good golly-wolly gee, he missed Trunks. His lavender hair. His rolling eyes. His mischievous smile. His crossed arms. His scowls. His insults. His sarcasm. His galick gun. His Vision Smash and Victory Rush, both which often toppled him in training. _Or had._ He hugged his old plush Piccolo, with his missing eyes and antennae, wishing it was Trunks. He’d have to do something about this, this endless cravingness, like give Trunks an actual fucking hug.

* * *

** FIFTEEN**

Courage came out of the attic, crumbly like a fresh sugar cookie. But it’s threadbareness would have to hold while he talked to Trunks. _Or tried to._ Dangnabbit, he had been less a scaredy cat with Bad Buu (and other sordid threats to Earth) than with totally teenaged Trunks. Only Vegeta, Prince of All Training Advice, was more terrifying when someone poached food from his plate.

Dangnabbit, the twelve minute flight to West City was taking _FOR-EV-ER._ Goten hadn’t figured out what to say; he’d been mulling over words for almost a week like he had with theoretical maths homework. He could ask Gohan for advice on school stuff, but not on erstwhile besties since he’d never had friends his own age. Maybe he should’ve asked Auntie Bulma because she knew everything, except how to get Vegeta to take a vacay. Or Uncle Yamcha since he’d had--

Oh fudge and fiddle-faddle, he was here already. At Capsule Genius Academy. It’d be lunchtime. Or thereabouts. And Trunks, he’d be hiding on the roof. He didn’t want non-Saiyans seeing how ginourmous his meals were because here, at this school, they’d want to experiment on him, these classmates in training to be mad, manicial scientists. And, yep, Goten had totally timed it right-- _or wrong!_ \--because Trunks was there, on the roof, chowing down while watching Storks and Lannerwings brawl on "Crown Deathmatch" with his Capsule Megamini PlasmaVis Venture TV prototype.

Goten landed without any acknowledgement since he'd kept his power level low. “Hey Trunks!” And said cheek-stuffed Trunks recoiled like Dad did from needles (though he claimed to be cured of this fear). “Please, don't flee!” Trunks didn’t, but his beautiful bugging blues screamed how he wanted to. “I’m sorry I can't stop calling you bestie. But you are _my_ bestie. And I understand if you don’t want to fuse. I didn’t mean to get stronger, but I'm not as fast--”

“It's not that,” Trunks answered, without looking away at his yummy nummy lunch, his serious voice whispery like in an _"I've Got Dumped"_ song. “I just haven’t felt like fusing”

“Um, that’s fine,” Goten laughed falsely. “But at least tell me if you’ve been avoiding me cause you’ve got a girlfriend. I, um, know it’d be totes awks to fuse and have me get some of your, uh, kissy-kissy memories and--”

“No, it’s not that.” Trunks glanced down while strange coloration covered his nose and cheeks like a rash. “I, uh, just don’t--”

“Really, is it cause I keep calling us besties? I know, we’re too old for--”

“No, I’m just...”

“Just what?”

“I, uh, I prefer boys.”

“You want younger friends!?” Goten gawped. “You’re always complaining I’m still so childish--”

“No, not that!” Trunks reddened. “I’m saying I’m more interested in kissing males than females.”

“That’s it!?” Goten laughed, a gut-bursting guffaw of giddiness, all while Trunks glowered like his dad. “Dude, you know that wouldn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Trunks licked his grim lips. “But what if--what if I wanted to--to kiss you?”

“Kiss--kiss me!?” Goten gaped. _Me kiss Trunks?_ He had hugged his bestie lots of times before, but never had their hugs led to liplocks with spit swiping. “Your dad would go totes berserkers.”

“He can go fuck himself.”

“Hmm.” He imagined his mouth smacking Trunks. On the neck. On the navel. On the nipples. _Even down there!?_ He’d seen plenty of this ascended kissy-kissy stuff on Master Roshi’s girl-on-girl vids, but he’d never thought of himself doing dirty dos with anyone (though they weren’t ever filthy peeps in those vids unless they mudwrestled). "Hmm." He should do something about this since he would be a senior next year. _And I could start with someone hot!_ “Well, why don’t we kiss? We’ve got to begin somewhere.”

“Huh!?” Trunks had trouble shutting his jaw. “Dude, you’re--you're totally serious?”

Goten knelt by Trunks so their lips were level. “No, I'm totes curious." He puckered up and shoved his lips against Trunks' sealed vault. Moist doors unfastened. Trunks slipped his tongue into Goten's mouth, letting it wriggle every which way without grace. Goten snaked arms around Trunks' waist around and felt warm, shivering excitement in his bestie's lean, mean supermuscles.

But Trunks withdrew his wild tongue. "This won't work." His fingers splayed through Goten's hair. "We need to do this somewhere more, I don't know, more--”

"Romantic?" Goten smiled. "Or do Saiyans not do romantic?"

* * *

**SIXTEEN**

Trunks didn’t hesitate to ditch school-- _or lunch!_ \--since he’d done his dumb presentation on “Environmental Engineering and Its Longterm Effects on Carrots”. And he didn’t want to hear this afternoon’s stuff about gravity’s effects on humanoid physiology, already being an expert thanks to his parents. Together they flew to a twee tropical island, Dragostea Dintei in the Numa Sea, where they’d gone several time to surf and swim, arriving there in less than two minutes. _Super Saiyan 2 speed’s the bestest!_ Surveys from above verified the island was deserted so they plopped onto sandy shore, ready to conduct mad kissing experiments.

Or almost ready. There they sat. On the shore. In jumpy, jittery silence. Staring at the sea. Goten felt the _thump-thrump-thromp_ of his heart, like the  _bing-bang-boom_ felt during fun, frenetic fights. He looked at Trunks who was still looking at the waves. _Ah, he’s blushing!_ Someone had to speak first so Goten did: “Should we begin this naked?”

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m, uh, ready for that step yet.”

 “Shirtless then?”

“Yeah, sure, we can definitely do that.”

Shirts, shoes and socks discarded, they sat there in silence again. Why wasn’t Trunk’s making a move? All Summer he’d trained during Saturday nights to get around to second base. But, then again, Uncle Yamcha had trained them for grand slams with girls rather than boys. And any dating advice they’d been given was for boy-girl ships, not boy-boy ships. If only they'd gone through Auntie Bulma's yaoi more often, but that was back before kissy-kissy stuff had their curiosity.

Dangnabbit, Goten was bored of waiting for his blushing bestie. He pushed Trunks onto the sand and clumb atop him like they ladies did in Master Roshi’s fave vids. _Is it saddling or straddling?_ He pinned him with superior strength. His lips zeroed in in on their target. They landed. _KERSPLAT!_ He bulldozed those unresistant lips, squishing and squashing until Trunks steamrolled him over for the top spot.

Trunks dug teeth into Goten, tearing at lips and tongue like he did volcanous hot wings. Goten clawed at Trunks and Trunks chomped harder. Goten bit back, breathing like when he espied mooey delicious-o meats. He snapped at neck and shoulder, pulling at skin like he did on pickle jars that needed Super Saiyan strength to open them, eliciting _grrrrrrs_ from Trunks.

Goten felt something. It was poking at him through Trunks’ trousers. _Oh, that thing!_ His own has playing hokey-pokey, too. He wondered if a Saiyan’s manpart would stay like this for four hours like it could from Vigora's side effect. 

Trunks removed his mouth from Goten’s mauled neck. “Was that bad?” he asked. “Because I don’t know.”

“I don’t either.” Goten noted blood on Trunks’ teeth. “Hey, does my breath stink? I didn’t brush after lunch.”

“It’s fine,” Trunks laughed. “And I like your new haircut."

"Oh, thanks!"

"I won't be embarrassed to be seen with you now since you're looking your age.”

"I've never been embarrassed by you." Goten pulled Trunks down so mouths met and mashed again. "I’m hungry.” He altered their settings without much tussling so he was on top. “Hungry for more Trunks!” Teeth gnashed on a nipple, tugging and twisting until Trunks screamed. Goten let the nipple loose. He licked the small trickle of metallic-tasting blood oozing from a nearby bitemark. They were lucky skunks that Saiyans healed at a ridunkulous velocity even without Senzu beans.

"Uh, you dumbass!" Trunks smacked Goten upside the head. "What the fuck was that?"

“I said I was hungry.”

“We’ll have to see who’s hungrier then.” Trunks laughed, his mischievous cackle of naughtiness, as he unbuttoned Goten's jeans. “Especially after you've had an alien anal probe for reals.”

"Oh, you must've seen Master Roshi's vids about them."

"Wait til you get one from a Super Saiyan." Trunks yanked Goten's jeans and boxers off so his nethers felt the full weather. "But first I'm testing another sort of kiss on you."

Trunks' puckered lips planted themselves on Goten's lower abs. Tickly kisses traveled south of the navel, getting nearer and nearer Goten's manpart in slow motion; and that part began thrumming to a faster and faster beat as it journeyed into them hairs down there. Trunks took it into his mouth! He swallowed several inches, licking and sucking on it like a popsicle in danger of melting (though it wasn't decreasing in size). Goten gasped and groaned as his willy-wally hardened like ice in Trunks' mouth, throbbing like a punch from Super Saiyan 3 Dad. But this was--this was so, so like gratifying. _Like winning a hot dog eating contest._ But Trunks withdrew. And it was just in time because the icky, sticky stuff spurted out.

Trunks grinned, "I won't be doing it again til you get rid of your pubes." He stood up and slithered out of pants and briefs like a drunk snake. "You can easily singe them off." And Trunks posed in all his grand and splendid man-groomed magnificence. "Oh, do you like what you see?" 

"No, I love it."


	2. In Choppy Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that their relationship's not so choppy, Goten and Trunks experience one date night--or weekend!--disaster after another when they want to keep their thing, y'know, secret because, well, Vegeta. And, of course, there's a cosmic conspiracy against them so everyone keeps finding out bffs/besties turned into boos/boyfriends.
> 
> _“Oh, hey boys.” Yamcha wiped his drippy nose with a sleeve. “Leaving early too?” His bleary eyes wavered. “Ah, but you’ve got some bases to score, huh?”_
> 
> _“You’re imagining things,” Trunks huffed. “Have you been drinking?”_
> 
> _“Um, you’re holding hands.”_
> 
> _“I’ve gotta keep Goten from wandering off.” The hand holdee laughed louder than Uncle Yamcha. “Dude, this isn’t funny!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dragon Ball Universe is huge. Enormous. Gargantuan. It has its own Wiki, too! Even with that Wiki's help, nothing here's ever going to be certified 100% Canon™ because interpretation, speculation and invention. And omission of Dragon Ball GT and Super (mostly) et al. Good golly-wolly gee, it's all silly fun, taking place when Goten's sixteen and Trunks' seventeen, in a world where Vegeta's become Prince of All Training Advice and modern vocab's used inappropriately.

_02:13:56._

Shit. Shit! SHIT! It was 2AM in Satan’s time zone and he hadn’t called Mom to inform her he was, like, training with Trunks. Dead. Dead! DEAD! That'd be his state if he went home. He could go to the Lookout where phone and internet reception was horrible, waiting for his ass to cease aching like a blow from Uncle Piccolo. But Mr. Popo’s new old-looking rotary phone connected to anywhere in the universe (Dad was always crank calling King Kai about his refrigerator running) and Mom would call up there if Goten was away too long. And so, with the vestiges of bravery he had left, he pussyfooted like a pussyfooter into the dark of the house--

 _THWONK!_ It was the frying pan to the head. _HWONKTH!_ He’d never been clobbered by it before (unlike Dad), but it didn’t make him topple over because thick Saiyan skull. _THWONK!_ This meant Mom was more than mad or angry or furious. She was in a wroth of froth. She’d ground him for the rest of eternity-- _and then some!_ \--after a lecture on Super Saiyan delinquency.

The lights blazed on. “Well well,” Mom seethed, pan still in hand, “where have you been, young man?”

Goten gulped at the magnitude of her glare. “Um, y’know, just out.”

“Oh, really?” Mom grimaced. “I see those lovey-dovey marks on your neck! Your girlfriend must be very frisky.”

“Um, actually, Mom, um, I, um--”

“I know a Saiyan-made hickie when I see one.” He winced inwardsly and outwardsly. "Bulma and Videl are so immodest, flaunting them like a new tattoo."

"Mom!"

She beamed at him in his awksiest distress he'd ever been in. “So, are you done having probs and troubs with Trunks?" 

He gaped, "Um, how'd you know?"

"You've never had a problem with your bestie before."

“Oh, so I, um, I got hickies?" he laughed. "You used to tell me they were bug bites.”

“I didn’t want you asking more when you were eight.” Mom donned her mad mom disguise. “And if you've given Trunks lovebug bites, you can bet your sorry carcass Vegeta’ll notice.”

“Um, well, we’re gonna be circumspect cause of him. He'll tell us we need to train not, um, do other things.”

“That’s a relief.” She caught her breath. “We can't predict how he'll react to his heir snogging Kakarot's youngest spawn."

 _Even Trunks is scared of telling him._ "Mom, please, don't tell anyone about us," Goten whispered. "About Trunks and me, I mean. Not yet. We're not ready for Uncle Krillin's teasing."

"I won't," Mom grinned. "Let's have fun with your secret. Wanna bet on how long it'll take Goku to notice you’re dating?” And it could be years before he realized, too.  

* * *

**FRIDAY DATE NIGHT #1**

Saturday in the daytime was all about training. _And more training!_ They fused so Vegeta would shut the fudge nuggety up about fudgety fudge fusion dancing. But he didn’t. He was being Prince of All Training Advice to them from the getgo. Gotenks had to use an awesome new attack, the Interstellar Steamroller, to shut Vegeta the golly-wolly up. Everyone on the Lookout laughed-- _even Uncle Piccolo!_ \--at the flattened Vegetacake. And Dad was superpsyched that Goten’s and Trunks’ ki and cerebrocorpiospiritual somethings were in harmony. But maybe it was too much harmony cause Goten’s thoughts were sounding like Trunks’ (and vice versa) after eight consecutive fusions.

And late this afternoon Auntie Bulma had caught Trunks shirtless in his room. She knew exactly what was up due to purple nurples and had secret synthetic Senzu to aid against swelling and bruising. And her pencil cam snapped pics of them to commemorate the happy occasion! She thought it was totes adorbs that besties had became boos (not Buus). But she wasn’t telling Vegeta since he’d be seething for a few weeks in 600G over Gotenks’ awesome new attack.

Saturday in the nighttime was for, uh, dating? It didn’t feel like a date. They went to that old rinky-dink theater to watch _Jackie Chun Versus the Blue Bowtie Army,_ emptying out two popcorn machines with the munchies. And Trunks had his arm around Goten during the whole show, disappointing some of his-- _or their?_ \--admirers. They went to that greasy-fooded chow joint, too, getting called Sugarlump and Honeybuns by the catwoman waiter. But Goten didn’t protest when Trunks paid since he had wasted the last of his dough on more designer duds.

But they wouldn't wander through old, emptied industrial streets in Satanburb anymore. They strutted down blindingly bright and commercially crowded Videl Boulevard in Satan City (there was a Saiyaman Street, too, where city sanitation was headquartered), arms around each other’s waists. They checked out the newest generations of gaming consoles. But mostly they checked out the legendary food trucks flanking the wide, wide sidewalks cause being Gotenks could make them extra hungry for a few days. 

_“MMM! MMM! MMM!”_ Ah, shit, it was Dad! They’d totally be unable to wriggle away from his notice. Thanks to his Other World pal Pikkon, he’d learned to recognize camouflaged power signatures on their lowest settings. But he wouldn’t see them with arms coiled around each other.  _“HEY BOYS!”_

“Um, hey Dad,” Goten replied. “Weren’t you like gonna visit King Kai or something?”

“He didn’t have anything to eat,” Dad explained. “Apparently his new refrigerator is running on empty!” He snorted much like the Other World comedian King Kai did about pianos and tunafishies. “Hey, aren’t you two out past your bedtimes?” Dude, they could only melt with embarrassment now. “Don’t panic, I won’t tell Vegeta or your moms.”

“Hnn!” Trunks harrumphed. “We’re over sixteen.”

“I forget how fast Super Saiyans grow up.”

“They sure do!” Ah, shit, not Gohan too! “I’ve heard the news.” He materialized, hands laden with catfish and avocado tacos, smiling with signature goofiness from ear to ear. “Piccolo told me you’re superfriends again.” And now he chorted like a choking idiot. “So no more Oldtenks and Fattenks then?”

Trunks scowled like Coach Vegeta. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh, y'now," Gohan winked at them, "I'm just wondering." Oh shit, was he on to them? But of course! He and Videl had already detected Trunks having romantic feelsies for someone. “Call home if you’re gonna be late.” What a dorkadweebasaurus rex! “C’mon, Dad, there’s a pineapple upsidedown cake truck by Pinkie’s Pie Shoppe.” And Gohan dragged Dad across the street, the strongest Super Saiyan seemingly none the wiser thanks to his stomach.

"Stop gawking, Goten," Trunks nudged his bestie who was more than bestie now. "We've gotta figure out what we'll try tonight."

"The chili-roasted kale sounds yummy."

"Uh, you dumbass!" Trunks smacked his forehead. "I meant sex stuff."

"But that's what I meant," Goten frowned. "I read some of Gohan's dusty books on that stuff. Chili-roasted kale's a sorta kiss where your ding-dong's--"

"Let's just train in the fundamentals right now."

"You sound like your dad."

"We don't want him to notice!"

"Dude, I know that,” Goten assured his. “And don't bite my neck so my classmates ask who's been giving me temp neck tats."

"Well, that's what dumb asses are for."

* * *

**FRIDAY DATE NIGHT #5**

He couldn’t believe it: _they’d been bestie boyfriends for a month!_ And they’d made it into one month of more-than-bestieness without anyone but the Moms knowing. Well, Gohan and Videl did, too, but Goten wasn’t telling Trunks in case it cracked his chill mood and mode. Dude, he’d been so doggone tranquilo he’d let Pan and Bulla play with his pretty and precious hair. But there’d be neither pics nor vids of this event. Absolutely none. Except the ones Goten made with his mobile for Auntie Bulma’s scrapbooks.

After a month of movieing, Trunks decided to diversify their Friday dates. He’d scored courtside tickets to a much-hyped double dribble header: _Satan City Strengthfinders vs Ginger Town Gingersnaps._ He couldn’t get a privy box since they’d all sold out; if he had then they’d’ve lasted through both games, witnessing Lebrawn set another scoring record. They left during the third quarter since there wasn’t room for their snacks. And they couldn’t risk a brief kiss without being on the kissy-kissy cam like Videl and Gohan (called _“her hot but aloof husband”_ by tabloids) had a few times.

So, hand-in-hand, they left, with plans to get lotsa luxury snacks. _Like spaghetti stuffed meatballs!_ And then they’d go somewhere (their fave island) to be alone and try the daring alligator death roll, a sex maneuver said to have claimed the lives of all who tried it. Journeying to Le Snaq Shaq, they smack-dab smacked into Uncle Yamcha coming out of the restroom with red-rimmed, blood-shotted eyes.

“Oh, hey boys.” Yamcha wiped his drippy nose with a sleeve. “Leaving early too?” His bleary eyes wavered. “Ah, but you’ve got some bases to score, huh?”

“You’re imagining things,” Trunks huffed. “Have you been drinking?”

“Um, you’re holding hands.”

“I’ve gotta keep Goten from wandering off.” The hand holdee laughed louder than Uncle Yamcha. “Dude, this isn’t funny!”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Uncle Yamcha grinned. “Trunks, I’ll keep your little secret like I kept the name of your daddy til Bulma said so.” Trunks ripened til he was redder than a pomegranate. “Hey, you can keep my secret, too: Miss Misa-Misa dumped me during halftime when I introduced her to Lebrawn.”

Goten’s brow warped. “But that’ll be all over celeb news tomorrow cause she's so talky.”

“And you’ll be all over the news if it’s known Videl’s brother-in-law’s dating Bulma’s son.”

Trunks rumbled, “Do you think we haven’t thought of that?” They hadn’t, but Goten wouldn’t contradict a defensive Trunks who was squish-squashing his hand tighter than Mom ever had. “And we definitely don’t want my dad to lose his shit about us.”

“Dude, I totally understand,” Uncle Yamcha laughed awkswardly. “But he really hasn’t been bonkers since the Cell Games; before that he was always threatening to obliterate me.” He winked at them. “Now, boys, stay safe from being starcrossed lovers!”  
****

* * *

**FRIDAY DATE NIGHT #6**  
****

After last week’s encounter, they reverted to their old movie watching routine. _Complete with cinematic cuddling!_ There wasn’t much choice this week so they went to the latest CGI-laden flick on the Cell Games. Trunks laughed throughout, rankling other viewers with his loudness, though he was huffy-puffy at Lavender Fighter’s hair being periwinkle; his mood was mighty encouraging since he was drowning in theses and dissertations besides senior exams. Tonight Goten wasn’t so amused: Dad was played by boxing has-been Dolf Drago; Gohan was portrayed by pop singer Teeney Bopper who couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag without stunt twins; and the popcorn was staler than King Kai’s comedy set.

After three hours and thirteen minutes, they took growly-owly stomachs to Burger Bagger. Five bags meant fifty hamburgers (without the fixings), almost equivalent to an actual meal. Each was finishing his fifth sack of greaseballs when who should materialize but Mr Satan himself! He was disguised as a construction worker, but his hardhat couldn’t conceal his one-of-a-kind hair. And with him was his exec assistant, Sharpie (who Gohan always called an asshat), still with an arm in a sling from armwrestling Grampy’s Little Champion Pan.

Smiley Mr Satan strutted over to them. “Hey fellows!” he blared inches from their ears in his teeniest, tiniest whisper. “Now y’all won’t let anyone know I’m here, right? The Justice League of Lunchladies, they’ll get angrier than Buu at a lunched out lunch buffet if they learn I ate greaseballers."He whooped like a whoopee cushion. "Y’know, I can’t be a bad example to my littlest fans. And what would peeps think if they knew I used cheap drugstore shampoo, not Satanshine? My licensees, they’d have a freak-for-all.” He leaned in closer so the smelled his garlic fresh breath. “Now, I’ll let you young fellows be since y’all, well, y’know.” And away Mr Satan went to order ginormous greaseballs with triple-layered cheese and bacon.

Goten felt ki igniting next to him. “How the hell?” Trunks snarled. “How the fuck does--you--you told Videl!”

Goten swallowed his last greaseball. “Gohan and her had us figured out months ago, y’know, when we first had fusing probs.”

Trunks slap-bapped his forehead. “Uh, why didn’t you tell me?”

 _There's no telling him he's got a temper like both his parents._  “I didn’t know if you’d go totes berserkers.” 

“I’m not my dad,” Trunks grumbled. “And you’re getting an ass whoopin’ tonight.”

Goten grinned with glowing recollections of Trunks hunched over his knees. “Ah, are you still sore from last weekend’s roleplay?”

“No!”

“Don’t worry, Mr Satan won’t tell.” Goten swooped an arm around droopy Trunks. “He wouldn’t want Auntie 18 exposing his weakness.” Ki fumes extinguished. "Now let's try the alligator death roll again."

* * *

**~~FRIDAY DATE NIGHT #8~~ ULTIMATE DATE WEEKEND #1**

The Briefs owned a non-capsule ski chalet northeast of North City because of course they did. Up there, and out there, they’d be alone, together, their moans muffled by mounds of fresh fallen snow if someone left a window open. _And it wasn’t me!_ Coach Vegeta would assume their weekend away was another train-a-thon. Good golly-wolly gee, did he act like they were as weak as he had been when he was a warrior teenager when-- _hello hard head!_ \--they’d individually achieved Super Saiyan 2 by their 10th birthdays (Goten had beaten Trunks by seven weeks). And, more importantly, on this getaway, no one's classmates couldn’t catch them cuddling.  _That means no more bite grabbing in Satan City for us._ But it didn't bother Goten to be caught with his cute (boy)friend.

Goten didn’t know how to ski, with or without ki manipulation, so they snowshoed over to the nearest resort, Bunnie’s Slopes. They raced through fluffy flakes, not stopping for snowball sparring since their last match had injured Saskwatch himself (he settled out of court for a luxury yurt). The eight minute journey ended with jawbones cracking ice in the figurative sorta way. Bunnie’s Slopes was a sex and ski club where everyone dressed like bunnies. _Even the rabbit people dress up as bunnies!_ No punny businessTrunks wasn’t amused, especially with bunnie gear available in Khakirot colors. But Goten had figured out what his family could gift Master Roshi for his 355th birthday since he hearted bunnie cosplay.

They zippity-zoom-za’ed back to the ski chalet. Goten was freezing like a freezeiecicle so they headed to the outdoor hot tub. They stripped down to thermal skivvies to roil around in lavalike warmth out in the subzeros. Tongues drilled in new tricks, too, blasting ki with kisses so mouths and throats savored fiery spiciness. And then all got totes awks: Goten let loose a few bubbles. _Oops!_ It ruined Trunks’ already ruinous mood so hot tub time ended like a meal without desserts.

Snacks awaited inside though. Goten hoped they’d capsize Trunk’s funk; Saiyan Briefs sure got bellyachy when hungry. They lounged on a leather couch, guzzling hot chocolate and gobbling cookies and donuts, while watching "Satan City Supernews". This morning Saiyaman had got his supercape tangled in a revolving door after rescuing the mayor’s staff from the Gangreen Gang. And then Trunks carped like a crab about Super Supergenius 3 Gohan’s dorkitude.

Goten socked Trunks in the gut. “You need my stick up your ass to shut you up.”

“You didn’t have to slug so hard!”

“And you didn’t have to insult my brother,” Goten countered without punching. “Remember, you lazy slacker, he ghostwrote your reports on semiotics and graphmatics.”

"Graph-e-matics."

"Whatevs." Goten began to unbutton his thermal skivvies. “Now get naked or I’ll mash you like a potato.” Clothes were discarded like banana peels. And flesh emerged, ripe for eye grazing. Mouths met first, followed by hands in hair, hands on hips, hands down there, groping with greed. And Goten was greedier with his electric touch. Trunks’ skin burnished with desire. His pecker and nipples hardened during charged strokes. Goten unbalanced Trunks by tickling his scrotum. He pushed him aground without hardwood cracking. Trunks growled, teeth grinding, scratching at the weight straddling him.

There would be no wrestling match. Goten grabbed Trunks by the legs, dragging the wriggling worm to the bedroom. He flung Trunks onto the floor, belly side down, as he ascended to Super Saiyan 2 with fine tuned control (no loud screaming, no destroying environment). Goten dunked his pulsing shaft into Trunks’ butthole. He dug around, in and out, up and down, dredging deeper and deeper into a resistant pleasure taker.

But tenseness melted and moaning intensified. Trunks crumpled with continued penetration. Goten bored like an automatic borer, unworried about cum ever coming; it burnt up in the fiery gardening process, never being spent like money. Goten withdrew as the three minute limit approached, when serious injury was eminent to the ass. He powered down and plopped besides his bestie/boyfriend. They soldered together like sticky rice balls, both doused in thick coats of sweat, in post-coital cuddling. It still surprised Goten how Trunks liked snuggling between sex bouts. "Feelin' better, bestie?"

“Mmmph.” That wasn't Trunks! Goten clambered up onto his elbows. And he beheld him: Uncle Piccolo, arms crossed, weighted down by cape and turban. His eyes scanned them with an all-encompassing glare. “I thought so.”

“You fucking voyeur!” Trunks leapt onto his haunches. “Get the fuck out of here!” He threw the nearest thing at hand towards Uncle Piccolo. And that thing happened to be Goten himself. A naked, sex-sated Saiyan smashed through a shiplapped wall when a Namek sidestepped attack.

“Calm down!” Uncle Piccolo yelled. “Your mating reinforcement things are disturbing my meditations.”

“Mated!?” Trunks snarled. “We’re not mated!” It sure sounded like he was doggone in denial about the obvious, just like his dad was about liking Earth things besides the food.

“It’s the same thing that happens when you’re parents are doing this thing.”

“This isn’t your concern!”

“Do you want your father attracted to your strange power surges?”

Goten wandered through the wounded wall. “Vegeta’s too busy training to notice us.” _Since Gotenks keeps beating him up._

“This isn’t funny!” Uncle Piccolo snapped. “Until you’re more experienced, don’t do your thing as Super Saiyans 2.”

Trunks glowered and growled, “And if we don’t?”

“I’ll keep interrupting your mating thing.”  
****

* * *

**THURSDAY DATE AFTERNOON #1**  
****

Goten’s school day ended on an afternoon most dreary. But all became brighter than fresh forged bling when Trunks arrived in his own custom capsule copter. _I bet he got lotsa pressies for taking his first poop._ Last week he’d gotten his wings and was flying, hither and tither and whither, by means Vegeta deemed most ridonculous-- _“slower than an intergalactic space slug!”_ (he'd once had a pet one, one he'd called Sluggie). And Trunks’ mood was far, far from terribad since his exams on stupid subjects had ended. Now he could complete his theses in bioengineering and nanotechnology; it wouldn’t be proper for a Briefs to graduate high school without a few degrees. _And he's already a capsologist and gravitologist._

And so, without ki assistance, they flew to Papaya Island for the International Edible and Incredible Papaya Festival. Every kiosks was filled with people pimping products. Papaya wax for candles! Papaya creme for eczema! Papaya oil for erections! And, of course, there was Satanya, known as the healthiest thing on Earth. _After Mom’s raw root and radish shakes._ But mostly everyone was there to taste the latest in genetically modified yumminess like pickled peppercorn papayas.

Like always, at eateries with special seats, Trunks got them into the VIP section. They planned to sample and savor the whole menu, but couldn’t get beyond spicy papaya casserole and chicken papaya stirfry. Another fresh wok full of food arrived, along with a ginormous papaya soda with two straws.

Trunks wrinkled with ire. “Goten, this--”

“I didn’t order it!”

“Then--”

And there they were at their own table: Krillin; 18; Yamcha; Launch; Oolong; Puar; and Marron. Everyone wore Mr Satan smiles while they waved. _Even Auntie 18!_ Because he had been well-drilled in manners as in martial arts, Goten waved back.

“Damn it!” Trunks clawed at his head when stares subsided. “Now everyone’ll fucking know!”

“Dude, relax,” Goten spoke between mouthfuls. “My mom says it’s healthier not having deep, dark secrets to brood over.” _Unless they’re secret surprises for Dad._

Goten sipped the soda when Uncle Krillin eyed them again. He kicked Trunks in the shins until he sipped, too. Goten gave his martial arts father a thumbs up, though the soda was carbony and watery like all movie sodas. Their date space was respected; no one disturbed them during dessert when they left for whatever they left for. But Trunks sulked over sweets anyway, like he always did whenever separation time crawled nearer _._

"Hey!" Goten's brains sizzled. "Y'know, maybe I could move in with you this Summer."

"Huh?" Trunks' beautiful eyes bulged. "What?"

"Or you could stay at my house if you'd rather avoid your dad. I'm sure my mom wouldn't mind so long as I kept my studies up. But we'd have to warn her about needing more food and--"

"We can split time between our homes," Trunks grinned. "But I'm not helping you with radish farming."

"We better go...do the crazy dumptruck."

"What about your homework?"

"I don't have probs with stuff like Satanic History and atomic physics."

They departed, arms around the other's lean waist, bodies eager for their own yummy-nummy banquet. But they were ambushed on the way there by a snarky, sharklike grin on the helipad. “I just knew it!” Uncle Krillin laughed. “I knew you two would be totes amazeballs together!”

Auntie 18 strolled by, hands stuffed in pockets. “It’s totes adorbs,” she corrected him. “And you’re totes adorkable.” Pigtailed Marron concealed her laughter as her father flushed scarlet.

“Well, uh, boys, are you gonna elope?” Uncle Krillin snickered. “Y’know, it’d break Chi-Chi’s heart, not being able to dress Goku up for a wedding.” Trunks began to blaze with anger like the kinda-sorta prudish pie he was. “Now, stay calm,” Uncle Krillin said, seized by seriousness. “Tell me, does Piccolo know?”

A chort escaped Goten. “He snuck in on us since our power levels went all weird.”

“Goten!” Trunks thundered without a bolt. “That’s--”

“Oh, yeah, he’s done that to Gohan, several times in fact,” Uncle Krillin nodded. “And Goku, too, when he went all Level 3 to see what’d happen to his--”

“Krillin,” Auntie 18 interrupted, “not in front of Marron.”

“Well, guess I’ve gotta go,” Uncle Krillin grinned like a cartoon villain again. “Now, boys, remember, I wanna be there when you tell Master Roshi.” Uh-oh, that was one thing the members of Gotenks hadn't contemplated at all.

* * *

 ** ~~SATURDAY DAYTIME DATE #2~~ NOT REALLY A DATE BUT WHATEVS**  
****

A vertical Destructo Disc blazed in the sky. Below its glow Trunks lounged, a mirage sprawled in sand like a merman in board shorts. Nearby Turtle slept in the shade and Master Roshi roasted in the sun with a stack of magazines. Offshore Marron splashed, shouting up at her mom to kick ass.

And Auntie 18 was kicking ass! Hook. Chop. Block. Jab. Charge. Blast! Goten and Uncle Krillin dashed and dodged Infinity Bullets. Goten shot down towards the shimmering water. His eyes wandered. Trunks was taking off his shirt, unsheathing injuries gotten on other beaches. Goten would’ve been rubbing old timey sunscreen on Trunks if it wasn’t for UV pills. Feet splatted on Goten’s back and their force sent him kersplatting into the ocean like a cannonball.

His attacker cackled, “I wonder why someone was so distracted!” Goten clawed his way ashore, laughing, shaking his head. And Trunks glowered at them behind designer shades. Marron fetched snack baskets for non-androids while Auntie 18 dove deep into the ocean seeking pearls and sunken treasures.

Master Roshi had risen from smutty dreams. He tottered over to the munching bunch, glum and grim and gloomy as Coach Vegeta when telling others to train. “Boys,” the Turtle Hermit adjusted his shades, “I’ve passed all my lovemaking wisdom onto you two. So when’re you gonna get yourselves some smokin’ honey bunnies?” And both boys winced without words, unready to reveal their not-so-secret secret to him. it was certain he'd ask them awksward questions about how they did their love stuff.

“Master Roshi!” Uncle Krillin rolled his eyes. “Not in front of Marron!” And she giggled, being in the know, like Pan and Bulla who had wanted to see if they smooched differently than dads and moms did.

“Krillin,” Master Roshi shook his head, “aren’t you worried about these boys? Goku had a hot wife by the time he was twenty.”

“They’re not Goku.”

“And they’re not hermits! So, what is it, boys? Your Uncle Roshi wants to see you well settled before his 100th birthday.”

Trunks mumbled, “You’re 354.”

“And I'm not getting any younger! I want to see you settle down like--”

“Uncle,” Marron interrupted, “haven’t you noticed their lovebug bites yet?”

Master Roshi’s neck veered nearer. “Heh, you sly guys!” he chorted like a kettle. “When can I meet your mysterious young ladies?"

Goten blurted: “There won’t be any ladies.”

“Goten!” Trunks slugged his boyfriend in the shoulder. “Shut up!”

Master Roshi grinned, “You’ve got yourselves some spry sexbots, eh?”

“No, Uncle,” Marron answered, “they’re dating each other.”

“Huh!?” Master Roshi’s shades slid onto the sand. “What!?” Agape, he eyed them, one and then the other, again and again. “They--they’re--they’re dating? Each other?” His jaw clenched. Solemn and silent, everyone watched him, waiting and waiting, wanting to know: _would he go totes berserkers?_ “Heh, well, it means more ladies for me!” And he busted out dance moves and grooves that were the latest, perhaps, like three centuries ago.

Uncle Krillin’s hands careened over his face. “Marron, remember: don’t bring female friends over unless they can beat Uncle Roshi up.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Master Roshi ceased boogieing. “Now, boys, you can always introduce me to your single, young lady friends. Maybe on of 'em will make me put a ring on it!"” Good gooly-wolly gee, Turtle Hermit would never ever ever change, would he?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fanfic is for fun, not profit. Unless the author gets ahold of seven Dragon Balls. Then it's a #1 Bestseller Short Story for five years.


End file.
